Room for All of Us

I learned to read the room before I learned the names,

Counted every tremor hiding underneath the smiles and games.

At the family table, I could feel the weather change,

While everyone kept talking, I was carrying the rain.

I found a few like me beneath the crowded noise,

But we stepped back from each other, scared of adding to the voice.

I’m not too much, I’m just feeling through the walls,

Hearing every heartbeat, every crack before it falls.

If the world is still learning how to make a place for us,

Leave a little light on—there is room for all of us.

Strangers pass like pages on the sidewalk after work,

I can sense the hurt they hide beneath the practiced words.

A mother grips her shopping bag, a child looks at the ground,

I take their silent stories home and never set them down.

So I built a careful distance, called it shelter, called it sense,

But a fortress made of feeling is still lonely in the end.

I’m not too much, I’m just feeling through the walls,

Hearing every heartbeat, every crack before it falls.

If the world is still learning how to make a place for us,

Leave a little light on—there is room for all of us.

Maybe we don’t need to carry every sorrow that we find,

Maybe hands can meet without exchanging every weight inside.

I can name what isn’t mine, let the passing burdens go,

And still stay soft enough to know the ones who need me close.

I’m not too much, I’m just feeling through the walls,

Hearing every heartbeat, every crack before it falls.

If the world is still learning how to make a place for us,

Leave a little light on—there is room for all of us.

To the ones who stand apart, to the hearts that overflow,

You don’t have to disappear to prove that you belong.

Leave a little light on, let it guide us when we’re lost,

There is room for all of us, there is room for all of us.